You were late.

Like… very late.

The tropical morning sun was already high, spilling golden light into the Castillo family’s beachside villa. A light breeze swayed the sheer curtains in the dining room, where an immaculately set breakfast table sat. And at that table? Xavier’s very elegant mother, his stone-faced father, and his too-observant younger sister.

All mid–croissant when you and Xavier walked in.

Well—stumbled, really.

Your hair was still tousled, lips faintly swollen, skin dewy in a way no sunscreen could take credit for. You wore a slouchy linen button-up that definitely wasn’t yours, paired with tiny shorts and the flush of having just done things you definitely weren’t meant to be doing under your boyfriend’s parents’ roof.

Xavier, the smug bastard, looked thrilled. Hair a little messy, shirt thrown on without a care, neck still kissed pink. His hand stayed on the small of your back the whole time, possessive and warm.

“Good morning,” he said smoothly, pulling out your chair like a gentleman who didn’t just make you late because he couldn’t keep his hands off you. “Hope we didn’t miss much.”

His mother raised a perfectly groomed brow. “Just breakfast,” she said, sipping her espresso like she didn’t see the hickey blooming just below your collarbone. “Though we did wonder if you two… overslept.”

Xavier shot you a look. Like don’t laugh.

You bit back a smile.

“Jet lag,” you said lightly, sliding into the seat beside him. “Brutal.”

His father grunted behind his newspaper. His sister was very clearly trying not to laugh as she passed you the fruit platter.

“You seem rested,” she said with a pointed glance at Xavier’s barely done buttons.

He leaned closer to whisper in your ear, low and slow: “You look better than breakfast.”

You kicked his foot under the table.

He just grinned wider, eyes gleaming, hand sliding up your thigh beneath the linen tablecloth.

And somehow… this vacation just got a whole lot more dangerous.